


Since first I saw your face.

by lleuad_yn_llosgi



Category: The Tudors, The Tudors (TV)
Genre: F/M, Henry Cavill - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:34:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25473964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lleuad_yn_llosgi/pseuds/lleuad_yn_llosgi
Summary: Lady Y/N Wentworth is a young noble woman whose world is has quite suddenly changed. Y/N had an incredibly secluded upbringing. She never knew her mother and was raised, almost solely, by her father, Baron Wentworth, in his quite country manor. But now, her father is dead and she is alone in the world, save for Lady Colton, her father's sister. Y/N's aunt and her family took her in for a time after the death of the baron, but Lady Colton has now decided to send her niece to court. As a maid in waiting to the Queen of England, Y/N will receive a steady income and hopefully, find a suitable husband...however, a life in the bustling court is far from appealing to Y/N, and all she wants to do is go home and grieve for her father in peace.But, perhaps her feelings will change when he meets the King's closet friend, Charles Brandon, the recently widowed Duke of Suffolk, .Will he become a friend to her? And would she be contented if that was all he became?
Relationships: Charles Brandon/Reader, Charles Brandon/You
Comments: 16
Kudos: 50





	1. New beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Since first I saw your face,  
> I was forever altered.  
> I swore in my heart to be true and chaste,  
> Where all times before, I'd faltered.
> 
> From the moment we first did meet,  
> I found myself reborn.  
> I had been lost in the darkness deep,  
> You were the light to guide me home.

"We have arrived, my Lady."

The voice from the front of the carriage drew Y/N's attention from her book and she peered out of the window for her first glimpse of the famous palace at Greenwich with a mixture of nervousness and awe filling her heart and mind.

Y/N had been to court only once before in her almost 20 years of life, and that had been many years ago. Her first visit had not been to the very heart of the English court as today’s journey took her, back then she had attended one of the King's country castles. The royal family had been on their summer progress and were staying at Kenilworth Castle when Y/N's father presented her to them as a child. Kenilworth had been little over an hour’s carriage ride from their home at Coughton, otherwise her father would not have gone, being reluctant to travel due to his health. Y/N had, of course, been a little nervous to meet the King and Queen, but her father had been beside her on that day and he always made her feel safe and secure. But today she was alone, and looking at the looming silhouette of the enormous castle drawing nearer, Y/N could not help but marvel at how different this visit would be!

The small carriage in which she had been travelling since daybreak, now rattled up the long road leading to the palace, clattered beneath a great stone gatehouse and finally came to a halt in the middle of a large, cobbled courtyard. There were a few horses being lead across the stone yard and a number of servants bustled to and fro, carrying baskets of food or piles of firewood. Judging by the level activity from the kitchens and the sun’s low position in the sky, Y/N surmised that it must almost be time for dinner. She thought for a moment that if the court were preparing to eat, she may be too late to be presented to their majesties today, and she could not tell whether or not she hoped that would be the case; she liked the idea of delaying the intimidating situation before her, but the thought of waiting another night for it to be over and done with was not a pleasant one.

Y/N's thoughts were interrupted when she heard a heavy thud as a set of feet leapt down from the front of the carriage and begin to make their way in her direction. She took a deep breath and forced herself to remain seated and composed as she waited for the coachman to open the door for her. She remembered her Aunt's parting words before she left for London.

"Remember now, Y/N, you are representing not only yourself and your father, but our entire family. You must behave, at all times, in a manner befitting your status. A Lady must not appear too shy, you must speak when spoken to and be personable, you must not always be sitting alone poring over books! But do not over compensate, a lady should not be too forward either – charming, modest and polite; that's the key! Also, a Lady must not be too independent. A lady does not clamber in and out of carriages or mount and ride horses without a man servant to aide her - none of this wandering about without company or going for rides on your own. Further more, no matter how fearful you may be, a Lady of the court must show no outward signs of impatience or anxiety, but exude calmness and piety at all times. You must sew and sing and dance, you may well be asked to read aloud or play an instrument, perhaps play at cards – you must not try to indulge in the other pastimes your father taught you...I don’t know what he was thinking, you are a lady of the ancient Wentworth family, not a squire for him to plqy soldiers with! Remember my words. If you make a good impression, my girl, and you will not only make your family proud, but you may well bring great favour upon us all."

Y/N did not want to bring shame or embarrassment to her family, although she cared much less about that than she cared about honouring her father and his reputation, and so, instead of pushing open the door and stepping down from the carriage to get a look at the grandest palace in all of England, and stretch her legs and back which ached from the long carriage journey, Y/N waited patiently inside for somebody to open the door for her.

"Good day, I am Thomas Sutton, Master of the yard....and you are?" A curt voice sounded from somewhere out of view.

"I am William Young, coachman of Lady Colton. I bring now, her niece, Lady Y/N Wentworth. She has been invited to court by their majesties and is expected this very day."

Y/N smiled to herself at Mr Young's tone. He was a good soul, gentle and kind, if a little rough around the edges, but as he addressed the King's own yardman he spoke pompously and with a voice full of authority. Y/N supposed that, as Lady Colton did not attend court often, this may well have been the most important task that had been entrusted to Mr Young in many years.

"Very well, Mr Young. Take me to your Lady and I will escort her indoors, then you and your man may take some food and drink in the kitchens before you leave."

Two sets of footsteps approached the carriage and Y/N sat a little straighter in her seat.

"Lady Y/N?” Came the determinedly well spoken voice of Mr Young as he opened the carriage door and offered his weathered hand to assist her in leaving the carriage.

"Thank you, Mr Young." Y/N smiled, nodding at the red faced man as her feet met the cobbles - clearly the spring sun had warmed his skin on the long journey.

"Allow me to present, my Lady; Lady Y/N Wentworth, daughter of the late Baron Wentworth of Coughton and niece of my mistress, Lady Eleanor Colton of Harwell.” Will said to the master of the yard, with great importance in his voice.

"My Lady." The man bowed curtly. "Please allow me to escort you into the Palace, my man will bring your belongings - Jenkins, fetch the lady's trunk."

A skinny boy, no more than 15 or 16 years of age, ran over, bowed hurriedly to Lady Y/N, then took a trunk off of Thatcher, her aunt's footman.

"Goodbye, My Lady." Mr Young spoke quietly to Y/N, his eyes a little tainted with emotion as he bowed low over her hand and pressed a gentle, stubbled kiss to her fingers.

Y/N felt her own eyes sting and a lump grew in her throat. Will Young had been the one who had taken her to her aunt's home after her father had died. He had shown her great kindness and sympathy on that long journey and every day since. When he found her weeping in the garden in her first few days at Harwell manor, Will had given Y/N a tour of the stables and she had spent some portion of most days with him in those stables since then. It had been Will who had aided her in escaping on the unaccompanied rides which so displeased her aunt, and it had been Will who had become her confidant when she had nowhere else to turn. Although her own dear father could never be replaced, Will Young had been like a second father to her in those months she had spent with her aunt, and she knew that she would miss him bitterly now that they were to be parted.

“Goodbye, Mr Young.” She said, fighting to remain dignified as her heart longed to embrace her friend. Instead, she settled for taking his rough, old hands in hers. “I wish you a safe journey home and many happy and healthy days ahead, my friend.”

“Thank you, my Lady.” Will answered gruffly.

Y/N took half a step closer to him and lowered her voice, “Thank you for everything, dearest Will. I will be sure to write to you often.”

The old man nodded solemnly but did not speak. As Y/N stepped back from him, she placed a small velvet bag in his hands and clasped them tightly around it. Inside the bag was a silver locket of hers, it was nothing spectacular, and not very valuable, but inside was a drawing that she had made of Will and his own horse, Bess. It was Bess that Y/N would ride almost every day at Harwell. She was a gentle giant of a horse, much bigger than the horses that her aunt and uncle had brought specifically for riding, which most certainly added to her aunt’s annoyance – Bess was a working horse, she could perhaps even pass for a war horse, she most certainly was not a lady’s horse, but Y/N loved her nonetheless.

“Goodbye, Mr Thatcher.” Y/N turned to her aunt's footman, Will's assistant, and placed a number of silver coins in his hand. “I wish you luck in your coming marriage. I pray that may it be filled with joy and peace and that you and Mary may share long and prosperous lives together.”

“Thank you, Lady Y/N.” The young man smiled warmly. "I'll be sure to tell Mary your message."

Y/N smiled at Tatcher before turning back to Will and squeezing his hand tightly one last time.

“Stay well, Will.” She quietly urged him. Then, reluctantly, she released the old man's hand and turned to follow Mr Sutton into the shade of the castle's halls while her aunt’s men followed young Jenkins’ directions into the kitchens, before the boy scurried along behind Lady Y/N and his master with her travelling trunk balanced awkwardly in his skinny arms.

"You may change in here, My Lady." Sutton explained after they had silently walked some way through the winding corridors of the Palace. He had opened a heavy door which lead into a dimly lit room with very little inside it but a large mirror and an impressively carved table housing a tall, thick candle, a large bowl, a jug of water and a cloth for washing. The boy, Jenkins, placed Y/N's trunk inside the door and hurried back out of the room as Sutton continued to speak.

"You will not have long, I'm afraid, my lady, but a maid will be in to assist you shortly."

"Thank you." Y/N told him as he quickly bowed and exited the room, shutting the heavy door behind him, leaving Y/N alone.

For a moment, Y/N simply stood still in the middle of the small dressing chamber in Greenwich Palace, one of the grandest palaces in the county, and marvelled over where she was and what she was doing there....she was about to meet the King of England and his wife, Queen Catherine – daughter of the mighty Isabella and Ferdinand of Spain. She had heard tales of the magnificent monarchs her entire life, and now that she was about to meet them, she found herself terribly nervous and quite desperately longed for the solitude of her old home in Coughton, or even her aunt’s grand but familiar home in Harwell.

While she waited for the maid to come along to help her change, Y/N opened her travelling trunk and removed her clothes for the occasion. Her aunt had commissioned a gown of beautiful sapphire blue, embroidered with golden thread and adorned with pearls, sapphires and gold silk. Coupled with matching shoes and a French styled hood, it was the most impressive, and most expensive, outfit she had ever owned....she was almost afraid to wear it.

"My Lady?" A voice sounded through the door, startling Y/N as she ran her fingers over the ornate fabric. "I have come to help you prepare."

"Come in." Y/N called out. She heard the nervousness in her own voice and chastised herself internally - just because she was anxious did not mean that others ought to know it.

A moment later the door creaked open and an elderly woman in neat, but simple clothes entered the room and curtsied.

"Lady Wentworth.”

"Good day, Mistress...?" Y/N paused, hoping that the woman would offer her name.

"Walker, Cat Walker, My Lady." The woman curtsied again.

"Good day, Mistress Walker. I am happy to meet you." Y/N said kindly, not noticing the look of surprise on the woman's face at her words as she rushed towards the trunk and her new clothes. "Here are my clothes, Mistress Walker. The gentleman said I would not have much time to prepare, I'm afraid."

"Well then, My Lady. Let's get you out of these travelling clothes first, shall we?" Mistress Walker asked making her way over to where Y/N stood.

Y/N nodded. "Yes, thank you."

Mrs Walker quickly untied Y/N’s gown and the young lady stepped out of it. Once her outer clothes were removed, Y/N quickly washed her hands, face and neck with the cool rose scented water on the table, taking care not to dampen her shift. Once freshened, she patted herself dry eith the cloth laid out for her, and turned back to Mistress Walker who was waiting to help her into her finery. Y/N stood still as the maid lifted the sumptuous, heavy blue kirtle over her head and began to fasten it at her back. Y/N retrieved a hairbrush from her trunk and tried to brush her hair as best she could while Cat adjusted the lacings. She watched in the mirror as the single elderly maid - a stranger she had never met before - fastened her kirtle tightly with steady, well practiced fingers, and was struck by the thought of how very alone she now was.

"Have you never been to court before, my Lady?" Mrs Walker asked. "I do not believe I have seen your face before."

"Oh...only once.... briefly...some years ago when I was a girl. My father wished to present me to the King...but I have not been back since."

"And what brings you back now, my Lady? If you don't mind my asking?" Cat asked, now attaching wide fur cuffs to the sleeves to complete the outfit.

Y/N sighed weakly. "My Aunt, with whom I have been residing, has sought out a place for me at court as one of the Queen's ladies...she - she believes it will be good for me..."

Y/N's face was pale as she looked at herself in the mirror, and she felt her fingers tremble slightly as she played absent-mindedly with the hairbrush in her hands.

"Well, my Lady." The maid said kindly, placing the delicate hood upon Y/N's neatly brushed hair. "I think you will fit in at court wonderfully...a beautiful young thing such as yourself."

"Thank you, Mistress Walker." Y/N breathed - wishing she could even half believe the old woman's kind words. While she was confidently skilled at embroidery, singing and dancing, and played not one, but a number of musical instruments, she had always much preferred past times which were traditionally seen as less feminine - horseback riding, reading for pleasure and education, chess, archery and fencing.

Lady Y/N had come from a highly respectable family, her father, the late Baron Wentworth had been a renowned soldier, having fought bravely in France and along the Scottish border, earning the King's admiration and respect. Despite being a good 20 years his Majesty's senior, the Baron had become a dear and trusted friend of the King and was gifted many properties and lands by His Majesty.

Y/N's mother, the daughter of Sir Arthur Berkeley, was a fine lady in her own right but Y/N never knew her as the Baroness had died of childbed fever soon after Lady Y/N was born. When Y/N was very young, the Baron had been injured in battle and had never fully recovered, and so he chose to retire from court life fully, he never remarried and Lady Y/N grew up an only child. Baron Wentworth had refused to send his daughter to live with any relations or other nobles where she could be raised under a feminine influence, as he was advised to do, and so the baron's sister, Lady Colton had spent some portion of time at her brother's house, teaching her niece how to sew and dance, and tutors were employed to help with her lessons, but the baron himself did much of her rearing alone, hence her enjoyment of more masculine pursuits.

"Lady Wentworth?" Came a muffled voice from behind the door, along with a strong rap against the heavy wood. "They're ready for you, M'Lady."

Y/N stepped into her new shoes and took one last look at herself in the mirror. She adjusted gold cross that she wore about her neck, smoothed the skirts of her fine and heavy gown, then took a deep, steadying breath.

"You look wonderful, My Lady.”

Mrs Walker smiled encouragingly at Y/N and Y/N smiled back nervously, placing a silver coin in the maid’s hand with a brief word of thanks. She was momentarily comforted to feel the old woman’s hand squeezing her own tightly.

Then, turning to face the door, Y/N lifted her head and pulled her shoulders back.

"I am ready." She declared. She was glad to find that her voice only quavered very slightly as she spoke.

A page outside opened the chamber door and bowed low.

"Lady Y/N. May I present His Grace, Sir Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk?"

The page gestured to a tall, imposing man dressed in simple, yet obviously incredibly expensive clothes and, for a moment, Y/N stood mesmerised.

She could not help but think that the man who stood before her was the most beautiful person she had ever set eyes upon. He looked powerful and athletic with muscular legs and broad shoulders, his hair was a rich, dark brown, cut short and neatly trimmed. He had a strong, proud jawline which was covered in a light layer of facial hair that contrasted perfectly with his fair skin. He looked to be a little older than Y/N, but no more than 10 years or so; he was most definitely a man very much in his prime. Indeed, the Duke was an incredibly impressive figure, but, Y/N could not help but feel most enraptured by his eyes which were the most wonderful shade of blue. The colour of them reminded Y/N vividly of a field near her home in Coughton which, in the summer, would be filled with thousands of blue cornflowers, like a dazzling ocean in the middle of the English heartlands.

While she had been surveying him, the Duke had been examining Lady Y/N too; his eyes studiously taking in her smaller frame, the delicate tone of her smooth skin, the hint of shimmering hair just visible beneath her hood, the sparkle of her big, bright eyes surrounded by long, thick lashes, and the obvious swell of her breasts at the top of her rich, blue gown. He was impressed. She was beautiful, dazzling in fact; fit to become a fine jewel in the crown of King Henry’s court. Y/N, however, was so focused on her own observations that she did not notice the Duke making his. When their eyes eventually met, Suffolk's plump, pink lips lifted in a kind and gentle smile which lit up his entire face.

"Lady Y/N." The Duke greeted her in a deep, warm voice as he took her hand in his and, bowing low over it, kissed her fingers softly. Even as he bowed his head, those bright blue eyes peered up at her from beneath thick, dark lashes in a way that made Y/N's heart stutter in a way she had never felt before, she could not tell if it was pleasant or alarming...but, either way, Y/N was determined to be proper - no matter how her body reacted to his gaze. So, when the Duke had let go of Y/N's hand, she sank gracefully into a perfect, low curtsey - such as she had practiced and refined since her days in the nursery, and spoke with a soft response of “Your Grace."

As she arose, the Duke took hold of Y/N's hand once more, and slipped it into the crook of his arm.

"I am most happy to meet you, Lady Y/N." He told her as he began lead her down the now near empty corridor.

"I thank you, your Grace. It pleases me also..." the lady responded quietly. "Although, I - I must say, my Lord, I am rather surprised to be greeted by...well, by someone so...important as yourself."

The Duke chuckled - a deep, musical sound which made Y/N's heart flutter once more.

"My Lady, it was both my own wish and the King's that I be the one to lead you into court this day. Your father was a dear friend to us both..."

When Y/N looked up at the Duke, she saw that he was looking down at her with a tender expression of complete sincerity.

"I hope that you and I, too, may become dear friends, my Lady."

Y/N nodded, and offered a happy, if somewhat timid, smile.

"Nothing would please me more, your Grace. My father told me much of his times shared with yourself and his Majesty."

"Really?" Lord Brandon let out a bark of laughter. "Good God, and you still want to know us?"

The Duke seemed to suddenly lose all pretence of formality as he chuckled merrily, his entire face illuminated by his smile. His mirth made Y/N feel at ease enough that she allowed herself to laugh with him.

"Oh, most certainly, Your Grace." She told him, still smiling. "My father always spoke most highly of you."

"I am pleased to hear it, my lady, for there are few people who high esteem I would value more than Edmond’s." Brandon’s voice was warm and, though the formality had returned to his manner, his smile could still be heard in his voice and his expression seemed to hold genuine emotion. At that moment, Y/N dared to hope that his sentiments were sincere and that, in the Duke, she may have at least one friend in this frightening new home.

"And here we are, my Lady...are you ready to meet the King and Queen of England?" Lord Brandon asked her, stopping outside a huge set of wooden doors. Y/N could hear the loud chatter of a great number of courtiers behind them - a sound which set her heart racing and her fingers began to tremble once more. She offered a small smile and nodded.

"I am."

The Duke lifted her hand from his arm and rested it lightly atop his own large hand, ready to lead her formally into the throne room.

"All will be well, Lady Y/N. I shall not leave your side." He murmured, patting her hand gently for a second before nodding to the guards at the door, signalling them to open it.

The guards swung the doors open and the herald made his announcement.

"The Duke of Suffolk and The Lady Y/N Wentworth.”


	2. Introductions and interruptions.

The Duke of Suffolk lead Y/N into a room filled with more people than she had ever seen in one place and she was horrified to feel so many people looking at her. She felt her heart freeze and her breath catch in her chest, but she fought to remain dignified, keeping her head high and her face stoic. While all eyes seemed focused on Y/N as she made her way along the carpeted floor towards the waiting monarchs, she determinedly set her own gaze straight ahead. Shutting out the the many watchful faces which flanked her path, not even glancing sideways to the handsome man who walked beside her. She focused solely on where needed go, to the magnificent thrones at the opposite end of the room where the King and Queen of England watched her approach with curiosity.

"Your Majesties, may I present Lady Y/N Wentworth." Lord Brandon announced when they reached the King and Queen. The Duke bowed to the monarchs and gently released Y/N hand before taking only the very smallest step back from her.

Y/N swept gracefully into a deep curtsey and held the position, remaining perfectly still as she awaited the King's response. 

"Lady Y/N, you are most welcome at our court." The King said, his voice jovial and warm. 

With a startlingly casual gesture, the King leant forward on his throne and offered Y/N his hand, helping her to rise with a gentle hand and a warm, open face.

"I thank you, your Majesty." Y/N bowed her head and allowed a modest smile to pull at her lips.

When the King spoke again, he did so solemnly, his expression clearly displaying his emotions.

"Lady Y/N, we were most saddened to hear of the death of your father, Baron Wentworth. Edmond was a very dear friend to us and we loved him greatly." 

"As he did you, your Majesty. My life has been filled with stories of your Majesties' many wonderful qualities and courageous acts. You were never far from my father’s mind, and always in his heart and prayers."

The King smiled proudly at this, reminding Y/N very much of her young cousin, George, when she praised his improved handwriting.

"The Baron told us much of you too, Lady Y/N, did he not, My Lady? Charles?" He looked at the Queen to his side and the Duke just beside Y/N.

"Yes, your Majesty, with great frequency and even greater joy." Y/N heard Brandon's voice rumble from close behind her. She couldn’t help but smile at his comment about her father, her heart strings pulling in a way that was both painful and joyous.

"Indeed." The Queen agreed, her voice a soft purr which still held the accent of her motherland. "He would gladly have talked about you all day long, Lady Y/N, he was most proud of you."

Y/N felt her eyes sting with emotion now, but forced calmness upon herself....she was determined to make her father proud this day.

"Indeed he was." The King smiled. "And I can see why. He did not exaggerate when he spoke of your beauty, Lady Y/N."

Y/N felt her cheeks grow hot at the compliment and struggled to think of some appropriate response...would thank you suffice? Would it seem vain not to deny his words? Would disagreeing cause insult? However, thank God, a response was not necessary, as the King quickly spoke again.

"I wonder though, did he exaggerate your other qualities...." he tapped his chin playfully, as though in thought. 

"Lady Y/N, do you read well?" He asked, pointing exuberantly at her and smiling widely. 

"I-I believe so, your Majesty...I take great pleasure in reading."

"You do?" He looked a little surprised - perhaps she ought not to have admitted that reading gave her joy. "Just in English or in other languages too...?"

"I read and speak other languages as well, your Majesty. French, Latin and Spanish."

"You speak Spanish, Lady Y/N?" The Queen spoke this time.

"Sí, Majestad, aunque me temo que mi acento es probablemente muy pobre."

"No, en absoluto, mi querida, hablas muy bien." The Queen spoke gently and with a tender smile that Y/N could not help but mirror.

The King looked from his smiling wife to Lady Y/N.

"Well, what is it that you are both saying?" He asked, curiosity evident on his face.

"The young Lady told me, "Yes, your Majesty, although I'm afraid my accent is probably very poor." But, the young lady spoke so beautifully with a very good accent for someone who, I assume, has never been to Spain. I told her "No, not at all, my dear, you speak very well." And she does indeed."

"Well then. Bravo, Lady Y/N!" King Henry cheered, smiling dazzlingly and clapping his hands.

The Queen and, judging by the sudden burst of sound, everyone else in the room, joined the king in his applause. 

Y/N felt her face grow warmer than ever but fought to remain composed. She curtsied to the King before speaking with as much bravery as she could muster.

"Thank you, your Majesty."

The King smiled and waved a hand at her thanks.

"Hmmm...now, what else did your father tell us about you..." he pondered, looking at Y/N with interest. "And what is important to a Lady in the Queen's household...? Do you sew, Lady Y/N? Do you dance and sing?"

"Yes, your Majesty. I enjoy music, particularly."

"Excellent, excellent. And do you play any instruments?" 

“Yes, your majesty, I play the clavichord, lute and harp.”

The King smiled happily before turning to his wife. "Well, my Lady, what say you? Will you be pleased to have Lady Y/N among your ladies?"

"Yes, indeed, My Lord. I believe I will be most happy with Lady Y/N." The Queen told him, smiling kindly at the young lady before her.

"Wonderful!" Henry announced, throwing his hands out wide and smiling exuberantly. "Then, welcome to court, Lady Y/N."

"Thank you, your Majesties." Y/N curtsied low once more before rising and taking a step back, where she found the Duke of Suffolk, waiting to lead her away.

Y/N gave the Duke her hand and allowed him to direct her away from the throne, the chatter of courtiers beginning to fill the hall once more and unobtrusive music filling the room from the musicians gallery above. 

"You did wonderfully, my Lady." The Duke informed Y/N as he guided her towards a window overlooking the palace gardens. "I believe that both the King and Queen were most pleased with you....your father would have been very proud." 

When they reached the window, the Duke released Y/N's hand, although he stayed close by her and she looked up at him wistfully.

"Do you think so, your Grace? ....oh, I do so hope to honour him well..."

"My lady," the Duke spoke now in a sincere and tender tone. "I have no doubt that had your father watched you just now, there would have been no prouder man in all the kingdom than he...he really did talk of you incessantly...and with such pride and love...you were the jewel of his heart, my lady, the very pearl of his life. You may rest well knowing that he was proud of you each and every moment."

Y/N dipped her head as tears began to prickle at her eyes once again. It had been many months since her father's death, but she still missed him terribly, and hearing such words coming from so close a friend of her father’s made her miss him all the more. 

"Oh, my Lady, there now. Do not cry..." the Duke hurriedly tried to sooth her, resting one hand atop of hers where it rested on the windowsill. "I had hoped my words would bring you joy, I had no wish to upset you...."

"I am sorry, your Grace, you have said nothing wrong. The loss of my father is hard for me...my Aunt says that the time for mourning is passed but...I am not sure it shall ever be so."  
"I understand, my Lady. It is never easy to lose one whom we hold dear."

Y/N recalled her father telling her of the Duchess of Suffolk’s death not long before he, himself, had passed away. She was the second wife that the Duke had lost in his young life, the first having been the King’s own sister. Y/N felt a wave of pity for the gentleman's unfortunate losses.

“I was sorry to hear of your own recent loss, Your Grace."

"My - ? Well, yes, it has been upsetting. But...much time has passed since and I have many things to bring me comfort; the King keeps me ever busy and my son -."

"Now, let us eat!" The king's booming voice rang out across the room, making everyone stop and face him. 

"Ah, but I’m afraid our conversation must wait - his Majesty is hungry." The Duke shrugged slightly, but his blue eyes sparkled as he smiled softly at his companion. "Now, my Lady, I must dine beside the King and you will sit with her Majesty's Ladies...allow me to help you locate them before we part ways...I should not wish to leave you alone so soon..."

Y/N felt a new wave of anxiety wash over her at the thought of meeting the Queen's other ladies, and despite her attempts to control her expression, her nerves must have shown on her face because Brandon leant in closer to her and squeezed her hand gently.

“Fear not, Lady Y/N, the Queen's ladies are all pleasant women, for the most part, and as soon as we are free to move about once again I will come and speak with you some more, if that would please you?”

“Thank you, your Grace, your company would be most welcome. I fear that this is all very new to me...for most of my life I dined alone with my father, I am not used to such large gatherings...”

“All will be well, my Lady.” He told her, kindly, a gentle, encouraging smile warming his face before his head lifted slightly, evidently having found spotted someone in the crowded room. “Ah! Here, I see Lady Maria de Salinas ahead, she is a good woman, one of the Queen’s most trusted ladies, she will guide you well. Come, I shall introduce you.”

Brandon took Y/N’s hand and lead her towards a handsome, older woman, perhaps 40 years of age or more.

“Lady De Salinas?”

The woman turned and nodded her head toward The Duke, smiling pleasantly.

“Your Grace.” 

“May I introduce to you, Lady Y/N Wentworth? She is a little unsure of where to go and what to do and I believe there would be no better guide for her first evening at court than yourself.”

Maria De Salinas looked at Y/N with a friendly smile. “Of course, my lord, I would be most happy to help.” She spoke perfect English, with a beautiful Spanish accent, just like the Queen. “Come dear, I will guide you.” 

The Lady held out her hand toward Y/N who took it, and with a quick word of thanks to The Duke and a last nervous glance at him, she allowed the lady to lead her away.

Y/N obediently followed Lady De Salinas into the great hall, although they became stuck behind many others who hurried to enter the room all at once. When at last they gained entrance to the hall, Y/N was awed by the impressive sight which awaited her. The large room was laid out grandly with a number of enormous tables, each one weighed down by innumerable plates, piled high with the most sumptuous food the kingdom had to offer. Y/N continued to follow her guide toward the far end of the hall, until they reached a table close to where the King and Queen were already seated with a small company made up of the most important people at court.

Lady De Salinas gestured to a long wooden bench beside the table and invited Y/N to sit, before taking a seat herself. As she settled herself beside the older woman, carefully arranging her extravagant skirts as she did, Y/N noticed that the Duke of Suffolk was sitting at the King’s right hand side. The King was talking to him and both men looked to be utterly absorbed by their conversation, but when the Duke glanced up and caught Y/N's eye, he smiled warmly at her, his gaze holding her own for a moment before her attention was drawn away by a gentle tap on her arm. 

“Here, my dear.” Lady De Salinas was saying, gesturing in the opposite direction to the head table and drawing Y/N’s attention to the ladies surrounding them. “Allow me introduce you to Lady Mary Wallace, Lady Isabella Harrington, Lady Anne Hunter, Lady Jane Warrington and Lady Margaret Spencer. Ladies, meet Lady Y/N Wentworth, she will be joining you amongst the Queen’s maids in waiting. I trust you will make her welcome.”

There was a chorus of welcoming words as the ladies greeted their new companion. Each woman named seemed interested in the new addition to their ranks, although, Y/N thought, that not all of them appeared happy about her arrival. Lady Warrington and Lady Hunter, in particular, seemed curious but far less than enthusiastic in their greetings. Mary Wallace and Isabella Harrington, however, seemed friendly and welcoming and Y/N found herself quickly drawn into easy conversation with them.

Dinner at the court of King Henry was a most extravagant affair and Y/N watched it all in fascination, barely able to eat as there was simply too much to see. She watched the courtiers talking and dining, the servants carrying food and drinks and the court fool clowning around for whoever may watch him. However, no matter where she looked, her eyes always seemed to wander back to the top table, and though she told herself that this was to see the King and Queen, her gaze never failed to find The Duke of Suffolk who many a time caught her eye and rewarded her with a warm smile. After a time, people begin to move from their original seats to speak to friends around the hall and Y/N remembered the Duke’s promise that he would join her as soon this began to happen. However, before the Duke could make good on his promise, a different man made his way over from further down the table. 

The young man stood between Y/N and Lady Wallace and grandly introduced himself as Sir Arthur Steadly, eldest son of the Earl of Sterenchester. He took a seat between her and her new friend, blocking her view of the head table where the King, Queen and Brandon sat, and proceeded to talk at her – for it certainly could not be seen as a conversation when he did nothing but talk of his own position and accomplishments and did not ask one question or even seem to expect any response. Y/N sat nodding and offering small sounds of response. She did, for a time, attempt to break into Arthur Steadly’s monologue at first to converse, but soon to try and end his incessant talking, but eventually she realised that she was trapped and resigned herself to her fate. 

After what seemed like an age, the King appeared to have eaten his fill, and he called to the musicians for livelier music and encouraged his courtiers to dance. 

"Lady Y/N? Where is Lady Y/N?" King Henry's voice rang out across the hall and Lady Y/N, Sir Arthur and everyone else on her table, looked around at once. 

"Ah, there you are, my lady!” Henry cheered, having spotted Y/N after Steadly’s position changed. “Brandon, escort our new friend in a dance, let us see her skill."

“Gladly, your Majesty.” Brandon stood from his seat with a satisfied smirk on his lips, and nodded a small bow to the King before walking toward the table where Y/N sat.

"My lady..." The Duke stood directly between Y/N and Sir Arthur, his back entirely to the latter, not even acknowledging the man’s existence as he bowed to the lady. "Let us dance."

“Of course, Your Grace.” Y/N smiled, gladly settling her hand in the Duke’s once again. 

She was rather surprised to find herself unafraid of this moment as she followed Brandon onto the floor with her head held high. She did not like to be a central point of attention, and she certainly was not used to being so surrounded by people (let alone being watched by the King himself, who had personally requested she dance) but, all the same, she felt a sense of calm that she had not felt all day. Y/N truly loved to dance and her aunt had been very firm about her and her young cousins learning all of the most popular dances from court...and if she was dancing with the Duke, she wouldn’t have to make conversation with the gentlemen at her table. 

As Y/N and Brandon arrived at the floor, the leader of the musicians called out the name of the first dance and everyone arranged themselves accordingly.

The Pavane was a rather reserved, slow dance which required partners to only touch the tips of each others fingers as they circled one another at arms reach. The footwork was fairly simple as well, making it was a good choice to allow everyone to ease in to the activity after dining.

Brandon positioned himself and Y/N at a spot on the floor directly in front of the King and Queen and Y/N to felt her stomach squirm a little with nerves as she realised how close she was be to their majesties. But there was no time to worry, as the musicians were starting to play. Y/N and Brandon, along with the other dancers, bowed respectfully to the monarchs and then to each other; and then the dance began. 

As the Duke lifted his hand to touch his fingers to Y/N’s, he smiled warmly at her.

“How did you find your first meal at court, my lady?” he asked, taking a sweeping step to the side as they circled one another.  
“Most interesting, your Grace.” Y/N responded, dropping into the necessary curtsey as they completed their circle. “It is much grander than anything I have ever seen.”

“This is just a normal day, my lady, wait until you see a feast day or some other celebration.” Brandon told her, rising from his bow and moving backward, away from Y/N.

The dance forced the conversation to end for a time as the movements kept them too far apart to talk; the dancers all moved up their lines in a series of graceful, sweeping steps and turns, as those furthest from the King and Queen made their way down the outside of the dance toward their majesties. But, even as they danced in silence, Y/N's eyes remained trained on each and every movement her handsome partner made. He was graceful and commanding in every action; moving as though every step and skip, every bow and turn was made by his design and all others were merely aiming to match him. She felt she could have watched him move all day, and found herself wishing that they were dancing a more active dance so that she could see him leap and spin and, perhaps, even feel those large arms lifting her from the ground.

She felt her cheeks grow warm at that image and urgently pushed the thought from her mind – she had always enjoyed the more vivacious dances, ones where she could jump and twirl at speed, but she should not be thinking such things about Lord Brandon...he was a Duke! He was her late father’s friend, the King’s closest friend and brother in law – although the King’s sister had died some years ago - any attentions that the Duke was paying her were simply those of a friend. After all, that is what he had offered to be to her.

“And what of your company, Lady Y/N? How do you find society at court?” The Duke asked, continuing the conversation now that their steps had brought them nearer once again. 

“Your Grace was right, Lady De Salinas is a good woman indeed. She was most kind and talked me through all that was expected of me.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Brandon smiled and bowed as his fingers touched Y/N’s again. 

The pair turned once more, circling each other without ever breaking that light contact between their fingertips.

“And what of the others you conversed with, my Lady? How did you find them?” Brandon asked, his voice rather pointed as he stepped nearer to her, bringing their palms together.

“The rest of the ladies were very pleasant. They made enquiries as to my family and my martial status...although some seemed to lose interest when they received their answers; I am not incredibly wealthy, I have no powerful connections, nor any eligible male relatives to introduce them to. Mary Wallace was most welcoming though, as was Isabella Harrington. They spoke with me for some time and seemed genuine and kind.”

They were now moving up the length of the floor, walking side by side in time to the music while a couple from the end of the dancers made their way down the outside of the group towards the King and Queen.

“I am glad to hear that you were welcomed well.” The Duke noted, his voice pleasant and conversational as he continued. “But, what of the others at your table? I noticed Arthur Steadly seemed to have a lot to say to you.”

The Duke’s eyes flickered away from his partner to settle on the man in question, who was still sitting at the table where they had left him before the dance. Brandon’s face held a look of utter distain as he surveyed the young man’s pompous, self important manner.

Y/N grimaced slightly and huffed out a little laugh which caused the Duke to look back at her, his expression curious. 

“He did indeed have a great deal to say, your Grace...he told me much of his family’s vast fortune...” she could not stop her eyes from rolling as she recounted the first of his many boasts. “...and their favour with the king...oh and of course, he was so good as to detail his many, many talents...for instance, did you know, your Grace, that Sir Steadly can fence and wrestle better than the King of France? Or that his arrows fly so straight and true that he is likened to Robin Hood? Or that he plays tennis so well that his father has made him promise not to play against the King as he would he sure to beat him and that would not be good for their families relationship with his Majesty...oh, and he plays a vast number instruments so well that many have voiced their sadness that he was born so high as to prevent him from devoting himself fully to music?”

Y/N looked at the Duke with exasperation etched across her delicate features.

“I must admit, my lady, that I had no idea he was so talented.” Brandon smirked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Indeed, your Grace,” Y/N answered, her own tone light and innocent. “I do believe there is nothing Sir Arthur cannot do better than absolutely anyone else...”

“Including loving himself.” The Duke muttered, irritation clear in his tone.

“Well, Your Grace, someone has to love him, I suppose, for after spending just part of one meal conversing with him, I am sure no woman ever will.” Y/N mused, turning her back to the Duke as they circled one another again. “Except, perhaps, his mother.”

Brandon let out a bark of laughter, his eyes twinkling as they came to rest on his partner once more.

“My Lady...” he chuckled, his mirthful, mischievous eyes looking up at her from beneath his thick eyelashes as bowed again. “I do believe we are going to be excellent friends.”

Y/N smiled brightly at the still laughing Duke as the dance took them on separate paths once more.

The rest of the Pavane went by quickly, and transformed into a Gilliard without pause, and the Duke and Lady Y/N talked comfortably throughout. Brandon giving her a brief education in the personal lives of the courtiers surrounding them – who everyone was, who related to whom, who was married or courting...and who was thought to be sleeping together.  
That last part was certainly eye opening for Y/N. She had been raised to believe that her maidenly virtue was sacred and to be saved for her future husband. She had always understood that all physical relations were to be abstained from until ones wedding night, and yet, it seemed that many of King Henry’s courtiers were far past any hope of a virtuous consummation.

After the Gilliard came to an end the musicians began to play another tune and the Duke suggested that they continue to dance. 

“If you are not too weary from travelling?” 

“Not all, Your Grace.” Y/N told him, eager to put the Duke’s concerns at bay. “Indeed, having been suck inside my aunt’s carriage all day, I am glad to be able to move again!”

“You do not enjoy travelling, my lady?” the Duke asked, leading his partner into position for the beginning of the next dance. 

“It is not so much that I dislike travel, my lord,” Y/N told him, dipping into a curtsey as the dance began. “I rather believe that I would have found the journey most pleasant had I not been confined to that dreadful little box...”

“Yes, I also find it uncomfortable to travel for long periods of time in a carriage...and bloody boring too.” Brandon conceded, guiding Y/N to cross from one side of him to the other. “I always ride, if I can help it.”

Y/N nodded her agreement. 

“I believe I would always chose a day in the saddle over a day in a carriage, if it were possible.”

“Indeed? I don’t believe there are many young ladies who would say the same thing...” Brandon looked down at Y/N with great interest, as they circled one another in time to the music. “You enjoy riding, my lady?”

“Oh, yes, your Grace. Very much so.” Y/N smiled brightly. “I used to ride daily at my father’s home in Coughton...and most days at my aunt’s, although she was a little more stern about me riding in poor weather.”

Brandon looked almost sad as he watched his companion twirl around him, her beautiful blue skirts fanning out elegantly, highlighting her graceful movements.

“There may not be so much opportunity to ride at court, I am afraid.” He told her, with a slight sigh. “Her Majesty does not ride often.”

Y/N sighed herself now for, although his words were not great surprise, she had held some hope that her Aunt may have been wrong when she told her that she would not be riding at court. 

“My aunt had warned me that may be the case.” She told him, trying hard to keep her tone bright. “But, I am sure there will be many other things to keep me occupied.”

“Most definitely, my lady, her majesty is not an idle woman. You will be kept busy in her company, and there will be dancing such as this, most evenings.”

“Well then, your Grace, if all my evenings are to be as enjoyable as this.” She curtsied low to him with a pretty flourish. “Then I am I will have much to look forward to.”

The Duke smiled at that, a small, conspiratorial smile that made his eyes shine. “My dear lady, I do believe that I shall now have much to look forward to myself.” 

Y/N felt her face grow warm as she smiled back, her heart fluttering in her chest.

They finished the dance and continued into the next, talking happily and throughout, whenever the dance steps would allow. When the dance concluded the Duke, still smiling from their conversation, kept hold of Y/N’s hand.

“Shall we dance the next as well, my lady?” the Duke asked her, a look of great enthusiasm on his handsome face as he gazed down at his partner. 

Just as Y/N was about to heartily agree, when a new, drawling voice joined the conversation.

“Come Brandon, you cannot keep our new friend to yourself all night...let others have a turn.”

The pair turned as one to look at the cause of the unwelcome interruption, and Y/N’s heart sank as she saw the leering face of Sir Arthur Steadly. 

“I’ve never known you to be a friend to any woman, Steadly...not without paying her for the pleasure at least....” Brandon sneered, not even attempting to hide his dislike of the other man. “And I think you’ll find that I can do whatever the hell I choose.”

Steadly looked at the Duke, his face turning an angry shade of red as he sputtered furiously, trying fruitlessly to find some fitting retort. Brandon simply smirked at him, clearly enjoying himself and made to turn away with Y/N, when he was stopped by the sudden arrival of Lady Maria. 

“Forgive me, your Grace, Sir Arthur, but The Queen is retiring for the evening, Lady Y/N, and she has requested that you join us.”

“Oh, of course.” Y/N name answered, suddenly feeling a little nervous again as she was faced with new duties. “Excuse me, Your Grace, Sir Steadly.”

“Of course, Lady Y/N. Perhaps we shall dance another time?” Arthur Steadly simpered, taking a step toward her.

“Oh – erm...” Now Y/N found herself sputtering for an answer. She did not believe that even her great love of dancing could allow her to enjoy a single step with that man, as it was though, she was saved from giving any response as the Duke turned to address Steadily himself.

“Do not keep the lady, Arthur. The Queen is waiting for her! You would not ask her to leave the Queen waiting because of you, would you?”

Steadily began to sputter some denial of any desire to delay Y/N’s attendance upon the Queen, but Brandon spoke straight over him.

“Goodnight, Lady Y/N. It has, most truly, been an honour and a pleasure meeting you this evening, and I hope we may dance again soon?”

“Thank you, your Grace. I do believe that the pleasure of this evening has been all my own, you have been most kind and –“

“It has most certainly been an hon-“ Steadly began, speaking over Y/N in an effort to regain her attention.

“Oh, do be quiet, Arthur, Lady Y/N doesn’t have time for your nonsense.” Brandon huffed, before turning his back fully on the younger man and taking Y/N’s hand in his own. “Goodnight, my lady. I hope you sleep well and that we meet again very soon.” he bowed low over her hand and kissed her fingers gently.

“Goodnight, Your Grace.” Y/N smiled warmly at him, offering a small curtsey.

Sir Steadly opened his mouth again and attempted to take a step around Brandon, reaching out for Y/N's hand, but Maria De Salinas prevented it.

“Come, Lady Y/N, the Queen awaits us.”

As they made their way out of the hall, Maria turned to Y/N and spoke to her in a rushed and quiet tone.

“Forgive the intrusion, Lady Y/N.”

“Not at all, my lady, if her majesty requested my presence I am happy to oblige.”

“Well, in actuality, you were not sent for.” Lady De Salinas looked at Y/N out of the corner of her eye as they hurriedly walked through the palace hallways. “Her Majesty said you looked so happy that she did not wish to disturb you. I, however, was concerned that the discussion between The Duke of Suffolk and young Arthur Steadly was very close to turning angry, and I thought that removing the fuel should, hopefully, prevent the fire...”

Y/N looked at the lady, in confusion. She could see that Sir Steadly and the Duke clearly did get along but she could not understand how her presence would act as fuel to the fire of their dislike.

“I-I do not understand, my lady...”

Maria smiled knowingly at the girl beside her.

“Do you not, querida niña?” she asked, chuckling but speaking no more as they caught up with the Queen and her other ladies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how good the Spanish parts of this are, I had to use translate to help me (its been a while since I studied Spanish at school - not that saying how old I am or what my favourite lessons were would be very useful for this) So, if anyone reading speaks Spanish, I'm sorry if its not right.
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who reads this, I hope you enjoy it 😊


	3. An uneasy mind.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since first I saw your face, I felt myself complelled,  
> to think of no-one or no-thing else for my mind entranced, you held.  
> And my heart was entirely captive, trapped by your enchanting pull.  
> You; the purest angel. The most beautiful of all.

"Good lord, I need my bed." Brandon huffed as he made his way into his rooms.

There were candles already burning in anticipation of his return, filling his presence chamber with a warm, flickering glow. There was a blazing fire in the enormous fireplace and, from his position at the door, he could see that his bed chamber beyond was bathed in the stuttering light of a second roaring fire, and he heartily was glad of it. Although the day had been sunny and warm, the first day of truly good weather so far this year, the night had brought with it a sudden coolness which made the bright orange flames a welcome sight, particularly after walking so long through the palace gardens after his enjoyable evening had been so frustratingly interrupted. 

The thought of his evening, spent mostly in dance...or rather, more accurately, the thought of the partner with whom he had danced, seemed to push away a little of the cold night air and he found himself wanting to go over every detail of the night in his mind. Whether that desire was in order to try and clear the fog that had settled inside his head the moment that he had been introduced to his old friend's daughter or if he wished to simply lose himself in that same pleasant mist, he really couldn't say. 

He began to pull at the gold laces which fastened the collar at his throat, absent-mindedly loosening his doublet as he relived the introduction in his memory. He saw her there, in his minds eye; those bright, sparkling eyes glancing nervously up into his from beneath long, dark lashes, her shining hair peaking out from the rim of her hood - fashionable in the French style, subtly beautiful with its daintily jewelled trim, but modest in its understated elegance, much like the lady herself, he mused. He remebered how wonderfully that lavish blue velvet clung to her slender frame, and the delightful view it had provided him with, especially when she sank into a low curtsey before him and he had caught a glimpse beneath the neckline. He felt the warmth that had come to him with the mere thought of her begin to spread more vigorously throughout his veins and was surprised by the pang of guilt and...shame that he felt because of it. Shame? Since when did he, Charles Brandon, feel shame at admiring a woman's beauty? He shook his head and brushed the unfamilar feeling aside, eager to explore the rest of their interactions. 

He was just recalling the way in which that beautiful flush had warmed her cheeks and how her delicate features had been illuminated by her sweet smile as they spoke when, once again, he found himself infuriatingly interrupted. This time the interruptuon came in the form of his own men, making their way into the chamber in a sudden flurry of movement and sycophantic chatter. In trooped his grooms and his servants from his private dining chamber, the room where most of them slept while he slumbered in his huge, expensive, lonely bed; and Lord knows, it was a lonely bed, for even when he went to bed with a woman - and he was never short of options there - he never shared a bed with them all the night, he always slept alone. The group of men all hurried forward with offers food and ale, handing him the letters that he had not yet received, having been out of his rooms all day with the King, enquiring as to whether he wished to undress and what bed clothes he would like prepared. Charles sighed heavily and dismissed the lot of them with an impatient wave of his hand. He still wasn't quite used to having people wanting to dress and undress him, fussing over his eating habits and trying to put him into bed like a bloody child, and if he was honest, he didn't think he ever would get used to it.

He had never been poor, per se, he thought as he put down his unread letters and went back to unfastening his doublet, but he had started life as a much lower stock than he had risen to become. His father had been 'Sir Brandon' not Baron Brandon, nor Earl...definitely not Duke. And then, his father had died when he was still a babe, barely out of swaddling clothes, killed at the battle that had put the King's own father on the throne of England. He knew that this in itself played a large part of why he had become the man he was. He had been born to an English family, living in France with the exiled Tudor King, his father and uncle loyal to Henry Tudor when he was at his lowest point and his father died carrying the Tudor banner on Bosworth field. He was raised by his Uncle who was given a position at the court of the first Tudor King, giving him a position of advantage, growing into a man at court with the young Tudor princes. But, even though he had spent time with the Tudor heirs in his youth, he had not been in any remotely comparable position. He uncle had the bear minimum of men and he himself had to serve upon his uncle. Even after he found his star on the rise when the second Tudor Henry, his closest friend, succeeded the throne, he was not in the position to warrant a bustling band of men just to take care of him. In fact, not even his rise to Dukedom, which should made him as high as a man could go, without being part of the royal family, had persuaded him that he should start being looked after like a pampered Prince. It had been his late wife, the widowed Queen Mary, Henry’s younger sister, who had begun to implement these over indulgent rituals, insisting that he not stoop so low as to dress himself in the mornings and remove his clothes for bed. Although it had been some time since her death, his men - men that she hired and trained for him - still insisted in trying to treat him in that manner, a manner that he could not stand. 

No, Charles Brandon was fiercely independent. He did not like being undressed by anybody but Charles Brandon...well, actually, no, that wasn't strictly true...he wouldn't say no to the dainty fingers of a certain young lady should she wish to untie the laces which he was currently loosening himself. 

He shook his head again, fighting the urge to picture those slender fingers sliding his doublet from his shoulders, running over the thin linen shirt covering his torso...slipping tentatively beneath the clean, white fabric to tantalisingly ghost over the skin of his chest and stomach and....

He shrugged off his doublet with another frustrated huff. He would not allow himself to think these thoughts. He.would.not. 

But why? He wondered, throwing himself down into his fireside chair and beginning to remove his boots. Why would he not allow these thoughts? Why wouldn't he let himself indulge in the fantasy of being undressed and caressed by the soft, pretty fingers of a beautiful young woman? He had never worried about such thoughts before...he would normally be planning on how to bring those thoughts to reality by this point, not feeling his stomach squirm with guilt...and something else that he couldn't pin point but that somehow left him feeling more unsettled than that unfamilar guiltly sensation. 

He dropped his boots roughly to one side of his chair and, in a desperate quest for distraction, snatched his letters from the table. The first was from the head of his household aqay from court, informing him that the roof of his home had been damaged in a storm and would need repairing. He asked if he had permission for the necessary repairs to be made? Of course permission would be granted, it was his home, his son lived there, he enjoyed spending time there, but the need for permission wasn't urgent. He would reply in the morning and the note would get to his housekeeper swiftly enough. The other letter was from his son, Henry. The first thing he noticed was that his boy had clearly been practicing his penmanship, his letters were much more legible than they had been in his last letter, and his spelling was improving significantly. The young boy's letter detailed the events of his carefree life of late; both complaining and enthusing about his lessons in every academic and artistic subject that a young man of noble birth should recieve, describing in vivid detail the skill he was gaining with a bow and his adventures on his horse with his riding instructor...Charles smiled to himself as he read his son's letter. He missed his boy dearly and felt a twinge of regret that the expensive tutors and instructors were getting to spend every day helping his son learn and grow while he was at court being of little use beyond keeping the King company. True, he was an important man at court, he held a position that most men would willingly kill for, and one that, in all honesty, he valued greatly, but...but sometimes he wished that he was able to spend more time with his son, that he was able to raise him and shape him not through paying tutors and visiting him once a month if the King could spare him, but in some real manner...directly imparting knowledge and sharing his life...he wished he could actually raise his son...

"...how old Edmund raised his daughter..." His mind offered, somewhat unhelpfully seeing as he was trying to get that particular young woman out of his mind. "....and she turned out very well indeed." 

While this observation was true; the young lady was graceful, well-mannnered and, by all accounts, as highly educated as any young nobleman - and Edmond Wentworth had played a huge role in that...but Charles was frustrated with the thought, nonetheless, as it was her beauty and charm that his mind thought of at that moment. In fact, it had been her beauty and charm that he had thought about constantly since she stepped through the dressing chamber door and into his life that evening.

With yet another groan - he was beginning to get tired of the noise, despite being the one making it - he put down his son's letter, pushed himself up from his seat and stalked into his bedchamber, shutting the door behind him a little heavier than he normally would have done. 

In his most private room, he finished undressing, laying his expensive clothes atop a chest near his door, changed into his night shirt and climbed into his enormous, empty bed. 

Oh, how he longed for another body in this bed beside him...he knew that he could get one, warm and willing, easily enough but he found that the idea of the body of any other woman - no matter how beautiful or athletic she may be, did nothing to entice him. It was her body that he desired to have in his bed...he wanted that sweet, delicate angel of a woman next to him more than he could recall desiring the presence of any woman before. He yearned to feel those slender arms wrapped around his torso, those skilled dancer's legs tangled with his own, that beautiful head resting neatly above his heart while his hands ran up and down the undoubtedly smooth skin of her back and shoulders. It was then, as he thought about such a moment with her, Brandon came to a realisation...he suddenly understood why he had been feeling so conflicted about Y/N. It was not just her body that he longed for as he lay in his bed, that he had longed for all evening long...no, he longed for more than that. In Y/N he wanted everything; a lover, a friend, a companion.

His heart raced as the realisation washed over him...he knew that he was a fiercely loyal friend and damn good lover...but as a companion? Well, he had never managed to be very good at that...when he was a husband he did little but hurt, betray and neglect his wives...he had found himself regretting these actions more and more as the years passed, but the memories had never haunted him as much as the thought of that sweet girl going through that same pain because of him.

He wasn't fool enough to believe himself in love after one evening of dance and conversation, but he knew that there was something special about that young lady...Y/N - how his mind relished even the simple thought of her name. Yes, there was something about her that drew him to her...that made him wish to know her better, to bring her joy and peace and happiness...to protect her and provide for her. He longed to be all that she would ever need, to give her all that she could desire.

"...but all you'll give her is pain..." he thought miserably. Dear Lord, he hated his own mind sometimes...but he couldn't argue, the prediction was most probably accurate...history had shown him that.

And so his mind went on, arguing back and forth about Y/N and what he could offer her, what he wanted from her, for her, with her...and what pain he would probably cause her. It seemed like many hours passed in this vicious cycle of thoughts, indeed the candle had burnt low, before he finally fell asleep. But even sleep could bring him no peace. His sleep was filled with visions of the beautiful, angelic face of Y/N Wentworth - smiling and laughing...or blissfully sighing in his dreams...and weeping in his nightmares.

When Brandon awoke the following morning he felt exhausted and irritable. The morning light shone annoyingly through a crack in the curtains which hung about his bed, and he could here Edwards, the head of his household at court, bustling about behind the heavy velvet drapes.

"Come back later, James." Charles groaned roughly, not even bothering to move the curtains aside to speak to the other man. "I had a God awful night's sleep. I shall rest some more before breakfast."

After a moment of quiet, which Brandon originally took as a sign that the man was preparing to leave again, James Edwards addressed his master.

"Unfortunately, your Grace, there will be no time for further rest this morning. His majesty the King has requested your presence in his chambers as soon as possible...I believe he has plans for the day as it looks to be another fine one.."

Charles burried his face against the pillow with a rather dramatically anguished groan. 

"Bloody hell, Henry. Can't you let a man have some peace for a change?" His mind moaned to the King, words that his voice would never speak aloud. Charles loved Henry Tudor and would alway obey his requests...even if, at times, he wished he could ignore them.

He took a deep breath, attempting to prepare himself for what he imagined would be a long and tiring day, then spoke aloud once more.

"Very well, Edwards, prepare some clothes fit for hunting...I imagine that's what his Majesty has planned..." he hadn't quite managed to hide his displeasure as he spoke, but he would ensure there was no hint of his miserable tone by the time he reached the King. 

"Of course, your Grace." Edwards replied briskly. Charles could already hear him bustling about finding the right atire. "And your Grace, is quite right. Thomas informed me that the King wishes to spend the day hunting. Would you like your black boots? Or the brown?"

"Brown..." Charles sighed, swinging his legs out of the bed and pulling back the curtain in one fluid, if somewhat aggressive, movement. 

Edwards looked at his master with a concerned expression, and appeared set to question his mood when Brandon preempted him.

"I am quite well, James. Merely tired. The change in weather must have disrupted my humours...sleep evaded me until some horribly late hour, but I'm sure its nothing a little fine weather, fresh air and exercise won't fix."

"Very good, my lord. Here are your clothes and boots..." Edwards bowed to the duke as he lay the fine riding clothes out across the side of the bed. "Would you like some assis - "

"I am quite capable of dressing myself, thank you, James." Charles interrupted, bruskly. How many times did he have to explain that?

"Of course, Your Grace." James bowed once more, before moving towards the chamber door. "Then I shall leave you to prepare."

In no time at all, Charles was dressed and leaving his chambers to find the King. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who has been following this story, I'm really sorry that it hasn't taken so long for this latest chapter to come out. Life has been very difficult lately so I haven't had much chance to write and even when I've had the time, its been hard to focus. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and liked seeing things from Brandon's point of view, I enjoy writing for both Y/N and our handsome Duke so I think I may go between the two throughout the story...if people like the different point of view.


	4. Early Mornings

When Charles entered the Kings chambers, the rooms were already bursting with activity; servants were rushing too and fro, collecting everything for the King's day in the saddle. A number of noblemen were standing around the King as he sat on his throne, sycophantically laughing and joking with the monarch. Charles rolled his eyes and took a calming breath...he really wished he could have stayed in bed this morning.

"His Grace, The Duke of Suffolk." the King's herald announced, ensuring that everyone in the room was fully aware of Brandon's presence. Within that single second Charles entire demeanour changed. His exhausted slouch straighten to a proud and cocky stance, while his expression shifted from one of disgruntled moodiness, to one of proud self-assuredness - he was all smiles and swagger as he entered the room.

"Charles! There you are! We were beginning to think you wouldn't join us!" Henry cried, grinning widely and approaching his friend to greet him with a hearty embrace. "And that, your Grace, just would not do! I absolutely insist that you join me in riding out on this wonderful, sunny day!"

Charles forced a seemingly joyous grin onto his face and made sure to respond with equal enthusiasm.

"My lord, I would not miss a days riding with you for anything in the world...I simply couldn't find my favourite boots this morning. Forgive me." He bowed his head remorsefully.

"Oh, of course, Charles, of course. Think nothing of it." The King shrugged, throwing his arms wide to the sides as if to fling away any negative feeling before clapping his friend on the shoulder. "What a day we shall have, Charles! A picnic breakfast, races...and of course, some hunting! Oh, how glad I am that this fine weather has arrived!"

"Indeed, my lord, spring is finally here!" Charles responded, smiling warmly at his overexuberarnt friend - it was difficult to remain disheartened when Henry Tudor was happy. "When do we leave?"

"Well." Henry began, throwing his arm over Brandon's shoulders and walking him back towards the throne. "My men are still readying my things, but that should not take much longer, so I do hope we may leave quite soon!"

The King dropped back onto his throne, tossing one leg idly over the arm.

"Mark!" He called, gesturing to one of his more trusted servants. "When will everything be ready for us to leave? I simply cannot wait to get outside!"

"Your Majesty, your horse is being prepared as we speak, I have a group of boys fetching and packing food for your breakfast, I am just preparing your favourite blankets and cushions for the picnic. Once that is done, I shall go to the Queen and inform her that you will not be joining her for breakfast, and then all will be ready."

"Ah, the Queen..." 

Charles noticed a small shadow cross his friend's face as he considered his wife. Clearly all was not well between the royal couple.

For much of their marriage, Henry had been a caring and devoted husband - although, that's not to say he didn't have mistresses, what King wouldn't? However, despite his dalliances with the young ladies at court, he had always been most loving towards his Queen...but of late, he seemed to be growing less and less warm towards her. Time was, he would have insisted on attending her personally to offer his apologies for not breaking his fast by her side, in fact, Charles recalled, once upon a time, Henry would have pleaded with his Queen to join him for breakfast beneath the early spring sun, now it seemed that the mere thought of informing her that he would not be eating with her hadn't even crossed his mind.

"Is there no-one who can go to her now?" Henry asked, speaking directly to his man. "I am really very eager to go and if we must wait for you to finish your preparations and then inform her Majesty of my plans, it will be so late before we leave."

Charles groaned inwardly at the sight of poor Mark squirming awkardly as the King's jovial smile was quickly turning sour.

"Your Majesty, everyone is preparing for your excursion, I will make my preparations as quickly as possible and make all haste to her Majesty - the delay will not be too great."

"I'll go." Charles could scarce believe that the voice which had just spoken was his own. He was a Duke and Dukes did not run about carrying messages...why on earth would he offer to do so now? Perhaps, he thought, that was a question he ought not dwell upon...instead he looked at the King, hoping not to have aroused too much suspicion. 

He found Henry looking back at him, brows arched quizically.

"Charles?"

'Of course, he is confused by my offer...now I have to explain myself even though I have no idea why I offered...God, I should have stayed in bed...' Brandon grumbled to himself internally...recieving the quick and irritating internal reply from himself of 'of course you don't...it has nothing at all to do with the chance of seeing that lovely lady you would like to be in bed with.' 

Charles tried to steady himself before speaking, hoping to sound natural and confident rather than flustered and ill at ease as he currently found himself.

"Well, what I mean to say is, if your Majesty so urgently desires to set out, that I would willing call upon the Queen myself, and inform her of your plans for the day...so that we may leave as soon as possible."

The King looked at Charles for a moment, those sharpe eyes scrutinising his own.

"Very well, thank you, Charles. Go and inform my wife that we are to miss breakfast with her as we are to spend the day hunting. Offer her my apologies and...send her my wishes that she enjoy her day."

Charles waited a moment, wondering if the King would send some message of affection or compliment, but the only other words he recieved were "And do hurry back, Charles."

.....................................................................................................

Y/N's first morning at court began just like any other morning of her life thus far. She rose early and said a short prayer at her prie-dieu; praying for peace for her departed parents, for the health and happiness those dear to her, for the safety and prosperity of the King and Queen and for the safe-keeping of all the souls in the country. Next, she found a footboy outside of her room and asked for some fresh, warm water to brought to her so that she could wash before dressing. Then, while she waited for the water to arrive, Y/N sat before the large mirror that was placed in her room and set about neatening her long, sleep-ruffled hair. 

This had been her daily routine for as long as she could remember. The only difference on this day, compared to all those that came before it, was that she did not wake up all alone in her own bed in her own quiet room, but rather in a strange, larger bed which she had shared with Mary Wallace in The Palace at Whitehall. 

Y/N had been informed the previous night that it was traditional for the Queen's younger, unmarried maids of honour to share a room, and indeed a bed, so that the young ladies would feel safe and could provide company for one another in their alone hours. Once in the quiet of their own rooms, however, Mary had suggested that the sleeping arangements probably had more to do with trying to keep gentlemen out of the young maids' beds. As scandalous as the theory was to Y/N, after her conversation with Lord Brandon the previous evening, wherein he informed Y/N of all the gossip on who was bedding who, the young lady thought that Mary was most likely right. 

As she brushed her hair, Y/N thought back over the other events of previous evening. Meeting the King and Queen had been utterly terrifing, but his majesty the King had appeared genuinely happy to meet her, which pleased her greatly - not because of his position and the honour and benefits that would come with being in his favour, but because of how much he meant to her father. The Queen had been wonderful, so kind and welcoming - and so full of dignity and grace, she was certainly a woman to be admired - everything a Queen should be. 

Y/N's thoughts travelled next, to the ladies that she had been introduced to during dinner and in the Queen's rooms afterwards; the kind and motherly Lady De Salinas whom she already liked very much, the warm and friendly Isabella, and her younger sister Alice, who shared a room nearby, Mary Wallace - her own bed fellow - who had been sweet and welcoming from their first introduction, and the Ladies Warrington and Hunter, who had seemed a little cold and uninterested. She felt little concern in the disinterestedness of those ladies, perhaps they were shy, or wished to reserve their conversation until they were more well aquainted...and if they did not like her, for whatever reason, she would not allow it to hurt her, she knew that she could not please all people at all times...That final thought was, in reality, easier to process than the feelings that accompanied it. She really didn't wish to have people dislike her and she hoped terribly that she had not done anything to cause offence to anyone at court, especially having only been there one night.

For moment, Y/N's heart began to feel tight - gripped with fear that she may find herself isolated and disliked at this bustling court. But in that moment, Y/N thought of another new aquaintance - someone who may, perhaps, save her from isolation, someone who had expressed a desire to be her frind friend; The Duke of Suffolk. 

Charles Brandon. 

She was startled by the affect that merely thinking of his name could have on her heart, which gave an odd little flutter as the name of Charles passed through her thoughts. He had been so good and kind to her, and he really was so very handsome - she found that she could not possibly conceive of any man more beautiful. From his strong jaw and mesmerising eyes, to his athletic legs and proud stature - his every feature was so perfect that he could have been carved by a master artist. As she concentrated on envisioning every breathtaking detail of his appearance, and each and every detail of her time with him, Y/N's heart continued to flutter oddly, and her stomach squirmed in a way that was strange to her, but not at all unpleasant. 

She was unsure of how long she had allowed herself to wander along in the mist of her own pleasant thoughts, trying as hard as possible to remember every word that the Duke had spoken to her, each touch of his hand as they danced. However long the thoughts lasted, they were interrupted some time later when her new friend, Mary, rose from their bed to find her simply staring, unseeingly, into the mirror with her hairbrush laying unused upon her knee.

"Good morning, Y/N. How did you sleep?" Mary asked, her voice a little groggy from her slumber.

Y/N started and dropped her brush to the ground in her haste to turn towards Mary.

"Oh! G-good morning, Mary." She called in return, bending down to retrieve the dropped brush. "How are you?"

"Well...but tired." Mary yawned, stretching out her limbs before untangling herself from the bedclothes. "I do wish her Majesty would allow us a little more time in bed some days..."

Y/N laughed and smiled warmly at the dishevelled young woman before her. 

"You do not seem so tired as I am." Mary commented, rising from the bed entirely, stretching her arms, and making her way across the room to join Y/N in front of the mirror. 

"I always rise early." Y/N replied, almost apologetically. "It was my father's habit, and so became mine, too."

"Really? My father rises whenever he pleases, when we he is at home, and that is often late in the morning....and he never cares when my brothers and I rise." She paused for a moment. "Were you close with your father, Y/N?"

"Very." Y/N smiled, wistfully. "He was very caring and attentive. He taught me himself for most of my lessons; reading, writing, numbers...we would play cards and chess and ride together...indeed, we spent a great portion of almost every day of my life together, until..."

Y/N let her voice fade away, unable to form the word 'died'. She took a deep breath and continued.

"The only occasions when we went any length time without seeing each other was when the King called for him, but he stopped visiting court altogether some years ago, and since then we were together evey day."

"He sounds wonderful..." Mary sighed. "Far better than my own miserable father...you must miss him terribly." 

Y/N lowered her head a little, feeling her heart squeeze painfully in her chest.

"I do...every day." She replied, fiddling with the brush in her lap, rather than risk meeting Mary's eyes.

"I am very sorry." Mary said, kindly. 

The young women remained in silence for a moment, unsure of where to take the conversation from the sad point it had reached. Then, Mary Wallace took the brush from Y/N's loose grip and began to run it smoothly through the seated girl's long, loose hair. It was a very familiar gesture, but caring too...and Y/N, thinking that she could not recall the last time anyone else had brushed her hair for her, allowed herself to be looked after by the young woman who she now felt safe in thinking may soon become her friend.

It did not take the ladies long to prepare for their day - dressing and preparing ones hair was a much quicker job when you had a friend to help you - and before long they had made their way to the Queen's rooms where the joined the other ladies briefly before leaving once more to attend morning mass in the Queen's private chapel, with her Majesty, herself.

Mass was as peaceful and calming as Y/N always found it, albeit far most grand, and she felt much more serene when she left the chapel, following the Queen and other ladies back to her Majesty's rooms.

Once in the Queen's presence chamber, her Majesty directed the ladies to be seated, and ordered a maid to bring them fabric and thread; until it was time to break their fast, the Queen and her ladies would sew. Y/N beside a beautiful, large window, fairly close to the Queen with only mistress De Salinas and Mary Wallace between her and her Majesty. She felt that, perhaps, this postion was rather saught after, as she noticed ladies Warrington and Hunter glaring at her as they all picked up their needles and began to work. 

She tired her best to ignore the sensation of unfriendly eyes upon her, and concentrated on sewing. The shirts, her Majesty had informed her (as all the other ladies were already aware) were for the poor - but this was no reason for them to be poorly made. Indeed, Y/N felt some pleasure in knowing that the work she was undertaking now would bring some betterment to the life someone less fortunate, rather than simply adorning the trunk of some rich courtier with more shirts than he would ever need. 

The ladies worked in silence, for the Queen liked peace between mass and the breaking of her fast, until the doors to her chambers opened and her herald stepped forward to make an announcement. 

"His Grace, Charles Brandon; Duke of Suffolk."


	5. Messages and Music

Charles drew his shoulders back and held his head high as he entered the Queen's rooms. He kept his gaze determinedly towards the throne, using every scrap of will power he had to keep himself from searching the room for a glimpse of the young lady who had haunted his every thought since the previous night. 

He approached the Queen with every air of confidence, despite the fact that his heart was beating abnormally fast, and bowed respectfully. However, as he rose again, his attention was caught by an astonishingly pretty sight, one which immediately dismissed all sense of strength and purpose which he had held firmly in his mind as he entered the room. There, sitting a little to the right of the Queen, with only Mistress De Salinas and Mary Wallace separating her from the throne, was Y/N Wentworth. He noted, with a rather strange feeling of pride, that it appeared the shy young lady had gained a prominent spot in the Queen's rooms very quickly.

Y/N was sewing a shirt, or at least it appeared to Charles that she would have been before he had entered; now, she was sitting with the clean white fabric laying upon the skirts of her elegant brown dress, her dainty hands lightly holding her needle and thread stationary upon her lap. As his eyes travelled upward from her hands, Charles noticed that Lady Y/N wore the same simple cross pendant that she had worn the night before, only today it was fastened around her slender throat by a thin brown ribbon to match the colour of her gown. Continuing his observation, Charles was a little disappointed to see that Y/N was determinedly keeping her head facing downward, modestly looking towards her fingers, whereas he could literally feel the eyes of other young ladies in the room boring into him, as if they could force his gaze to move to them through sheer willpower alone...but it would not work. Nothing could stop him from admiring the beauty of the woman before him, especially now that he had noticed that her cheeks were flushed a delicate rose colour, which he was only too pleased to think may have had something to do with his unexpected presence. It was at that moment, when he was studying her prettily flushed face, that Y/N glanced up toward him, her big, bright eyes peeking out from beneath long, dark lashes. Those beautiful eyes widened slightly when she realised that he was looking at her, the pleasant rosey tone to her cheeks deepened and her gaze shot back towards her hands. Charles fought to surpress a triumphant smile, but could not help but take a great deal of pleasure in the girl's endearing reaction and was enjoying watching the subtle darkening of her cheeks, and the quickening of her breath when his attention was abruptly pulled away again, by a short, sharp cough.

Looking up in the direction of the noise, Charles saw Queen Catherine looking at him, and felt a slight pulse of anxiety in his chest. He stood now, before the Queen of England, and had shown her the insult of allowing himself to become distracted when addressing her. However, before he could even begin to attempt the formation of any apologies, he noticed that the Queen's expression was neither angry, nor offended, nor even did she display her usual mask of serene stoicism, instead, Queen Catherine looked at him with one eyebrow slightly raised, her face illuminated with the lightest expression of...dear lord, was that amusement?

"My Lord Brandon," Catherine began, conversationally. "While you are of course welcome in my rooms, is there a reason for your being here? Or have you simply come to admire my beautiful new...ornament?"

Charles looked at the Queen in almost agonising embarrassment as her eyes flitted between the himself and Y/N. Within a heartbeat, however, Catherine had nodded at the selection of valuable and ornate trinkets which rested upon the top of a large dresser behind Y/N, implying - to the rest of the room, at least - that they were the reason for his distraction despite her eyes showing him that she did not believe that to be the case.

Charles quickly snapped his head back toward the Queen, away from the trinkets, and Y/N. He lifted his chin and straightened his back, drawing his posture up to be as proper and dignified as possible.

"Forgive me, your Majesty...for what trinket could distract anyone's attention from your most wondrous self." He offered his apologies and complements quickly, hoping to brush over the incident. "I have come with a message from The King. His Majesty wishes to inform you that he will not be joining you for breakfast this morning. He wishes to spend the day riding and so will be breaking his fast out of doors. He will, however, be dining with you this evening, and wishes you an enjoyable day until then."

Charles quickly relayed his message, his back as straight as a guard on parade, his chin held high and his gaze firmly set upon her Majesty's face, and he as he finished speaking, he prayed that she would let him leave without further conversation. 

The Queen simply nodded in response to Charles' message, but he thought he noticed a momentary flicker disappointment cross her face, so brief that he could barely be certain that it had ever been there at all. Within seconds her stoic expression was back, and she was surveying him shrewdly...and it seemed that any hopes of a swift exit were to be dashed away.

"And my husband felt the need to send the Duke of Suffolk to me to pass along this message? I must say, I am surprised. Normally his Majesty would have sent a boy to inform me of such things."

"Ah, well, yes, my lady." Brandon felt more than a little flustered now, and momentarily at a loss for words. Charles looked silently at Queen Catherine, who looked back at him with the faintest ghost of a smile making the lips on her otherwise serene face twitch, until he finally found his voice again. "You see, your Majesty, the King had already sent a group of boys to the kitchens to organise breakfast and a number of others were dispatched to the stables to ensure that the horses are ready when he wants them, and yet more were sent off to make other preparations, meaning that he had no-one left to bring a message here immediately. Rather than delay his Majesty's ride, and not wanting to leave you learning of his plans so late as to inconvenience you, I offered my services, your Majesty."

Charles finished speaking with a subservient little bow and the Queen's lips twitched with amusement again, but when she spoke her voice was as calm and peaceful as ever.

"Well, I thank you, Your Grace." She said, nodding politely at the nervous Duke. "Please tell his Majesty that I will be saddened not to share breakfast with him, but I look forward to seeing him this evening all the more for the loss of his presence this morning, and tell him that I hope he, and all his company, have a pleasant and safe day."

Charles nodded, relief seeming to spread over him as he felt his clenched jaw relax, and his posture became just a little less rigid. "I will be sure to pass on your message, my Lady." 

Brandon bowed low to the Queen but, as he rose, his eyes, as if acting upon their own volition, turned to find Lady Y/N once more. And, once again, it happened that their glances met and he found himself trapped in her gaze, quite unable to tear his eyes from hers.

"Your Grace?" The Queen's voice broke him from his entrapment once more. "Is there something else we can do for you?"

"N-no, your Majesty." Charles hastily replied, pulling his eyes away from Y/N and back toward the Queen. "I shall bid you good day, my lady."

Catherine nodded at the Duke, offering him a smile that he felt quite certain had less to do with friendliness and more to do with finding entertainment at his expense.

"Good day, Lord Brandon."

Brandon bowed once more to the Queen and then again to at the ladies sitting around her. Then, despite his brain sternly warning him not to, his eyes sought out Lady Y/N once more, and despite his desire to maintain decorum, he could not prevent the nod of his head in a private bow to the young lady any more than he could he prevent the smile that brightened his face, or the quickening of his heart, as she returned the gesture before he backed out of the room.

......................................................................................................

As soon the Duke left through the heavy wooden doors, her Majesty the gestured to Mistress De Salinas, indicating that she wished to speak to her. Maria leant closer to the throne and soon the pair were deep in quiet conversation. Seeing this as an opportunity to gossip, the ladies seated around the room began to hurriedly whisper to one another and within moments the room was filled with the hum of hushed chatter. Y/N, unsure of what was causing such urgent desire for conversation in the previously silent room, looked curiously at her friend beside her. Mary simply shrugged before whispering quietly. 

"I know Lord Brandon is a popular man around court, many of the ladies here would gladly become the next Duchess of Suffolk as much for the opportunity to share his bed as to share his fortune, but it is unsual for his presence to cause as much disruption as this..."

Seeing that both Y/N and Lady Wallace were as baffled by the situation as each other, the pair simply sat in silence and listened to the voices around them. Y/N tried to ignore the uncomfortable, cold feeling in her chest which had formed when Mary spoke of the Duke's popularity amongst the other ladies, and forced herself to focus on hearing what the other ladies talking about. The problem was, there were so many voices all whispering at once, and all so quietly and rushed, that Y/N only manged to hear snippets of each whispered conversation, unable to follow any particular one in its entirety.

"Well, that's certainly a pleasant sight to start one's morning...."

"Oh yes, that would be a fine face to wake up beside each day..."

"...such a handsome man..."

"...the notion of a Duke running errands!"

"...unusual how flustered he seemed..."

"Indeed, he's normally so confident and easy..."

"Surely he wasn't looking at her!"

"No, never! How could he when you were right here!"

While many of the conversations were light hearted and merely heaping praise on the rich, powerful, and handsome man who had just been amongst them, or shocked at the unusual circumstances of his errand, the last comments the Y/N heard came in bitter, scathing tones and she immediately set about trying to discreetly search for whomever who had spoken them, wondering who it was that sounded so angry, and why, but her search was abruptly halted when the Queen suddenly clapped her hands together, calling her ladies to order.

"That's enough chatter, ladies." She said, her voice soft but stern. "Continue with your work."

After a brief pause, filled only with the sounds of rustling fabric as the many ladies in the room set about resuming their work, her Majesty spoke again.

"Lady Y/N." She called, startling Y/N from her efforts at rethreading her needle. "You said, last evening, that you sing. I would very much like for you to do so now...perhaps some music will help settle the room once more after the excitement His Grace's unexpected visit..."

Y/N felt her stomach twist sickeningly at the thought of singing in front of so many unfamiliar, and some, she feared, unfriendly, faces. However, this was a specific request of her Majesty the Queen, there was nothing for it but to consent.

"Of course, your Majesty." Y/N nodded, putting down her sewing and standing, nervously. "W-where would you like me to..."

"There is a harpsichord by the window." The Queen said, prempting her question of where she should sing. "You may sit beside it, or perhaps you would like to sit before it and play whilst you sing. The choice is your own."

Y/N nodded and made her way over to the instrument. It was finer than any she had ever seen, yet alone played upon and she was scared to touch it, but playing whilst singing at least offered her the opportunity to keep her eyes away from the rest of the room and so she chose to play.

After Y/N had completed her first song, she paused to see what she should do next and found the Queen watching her with a contented smile warming her face.

"Your father did not exaggerate when he praised your voice, Lady Y/N. That was most pleasant. Please continue, if you are happy to do so?"

Y/N felt her heart swell with pride and sting with grief all at once but she tried her best to remain composed. She nodded respectfully and thanked the Queen for her comments, agreeing to continue.

After a moments pause, thinking of what other songs might please the Queen, Y/N began to sing and play once more. As was often the case with Y/N, a fact that gave her father much joy, and brought her aunt much annoyance, Y/N quickly found herself lost in the music that she played, so deeply so that the room around her seemed almost to fade away, and she failed to notice the dark looks which fell upon her from two sets of beautiful, but cruel eyes which watched closely her from across the room.


	6. Breakfast

At the Queen's request, Y/N continued to play well into the morning, until her Majesty's household finally stopped their activities to break their fast. Queen Catherine, Mary informed Y/N, almost always ate in her rooms if she was not dining with the King, and today was no different. 

The Queen's servents brought out a large table and set it in the room. While the table was set and the food was being brought in, Her Majesty and her ladies went to the small chapel beside the Queen's rooms to say prayers of thanks for the food that they were about to eat. By the time that the prayers were finished and the ladies returned, the table had been laid with fine, expensive plates, covered with a variety of meats, dried fruits and manchet bread.

Her Majesty made her way to her place and the rest of the ladies followed suit, the older, higher ranking ladies sitting close to the Queen, while the younger maids took seats further away. Y/N sat down beside Mary Wallace and immediately noticed Ladies Warrington and Hunter watching her from the opposite side of the table, their faces were hard and hostile and her mind raced as she tried to decipher what reason they could have for looking at her in such a way.

As the Queen began to eat, so did her ladies and soon enough conversation was flowing so freely amongst those seated around the table that Y/N almost began to forget about her concerns, in fact she most likely would have done for the time being, at least, had the ladies in question not insisted on shooting dark and disgruntled looks in her direction every few moments.

"Mary, do you think that I have behaved ill in some way since my arrival? Have I acted in some offensive manner and not realised?" Y/N anxiously asked her friend, keeping her voice low and her gaze determinedly toward her plate.

"Dear Y/N, whatever would give you that idea?" Mary asked, putting down her goblet, astonishined.

"It is...I have noticed that Lady Warrington and Lady Hunter appear angry or hostile toward me. They have been watching me almost without pause since we sat down to eat, and their looks are most unfriendly..." she felt her heart sinking deeper and deeper with each word she spoke. She really hoped she had done nothing wrong.

"Oh." Mary groaned, glancing quickly at the women Y/N had mentioned before looking back at her friend. "Don't worry about them. They are quite the most disagreeable ladies here. They are wealthy, beautiful and talented and they are very well aware of it. They expect to marry well and become even more rich and powerful than they have been all their unmarried lives...and they have already been very rich and powerful, thus far. They are always disposed to dislike new additons to the Her Majesty's household, as they see evey unmarried woman as competition for suitors. They will look daggers at you for a while but they'll tire of it soon enough and will be back to preening themselves and plotting on how best to get whichever poor man they hope to ensare...you know, I do believe Jane Warrington has her mind set on The Duke of Suffolk! Oh, and what a catch that would be for her! To become a Duchess, married to the King's closest friend...ugh, she would be positively unbearable..."

Mary finished talking with a dramatic sigh and a rather too aggressive bite of bread. Y/N, however, had suddenly lost her appetite and softly pushed away her plate. She could think of nothing more to say to Mary - although young Lady Alice was already chattering happily to Mary, so Y/N felt certain that her friend would not think her rude for remaining silent for a time. And so, with no desire to eat or talk, Y/N settled for observing those around her, and it wasn't long before she chanced a glance toward Lady Warrington. For once, and to her great relief, Y/N found that the lady in question was not glaring at her, she was instead huddled close to Anne Hunter, the pair of them whispering conspiratorially. 

Jane Warrington really was very beautiful, Y/N thought miserably. With her clear, creamy skin, shining honey coloured hair and smooth, delicate features. She was like a character from a song or poem. Even her eyes, which always looked so cold and harsh when directed at Y/N, were undeniably beautiful - like two pools of clear, cool water. Not only was she beautiful, but she held herself so well. Her posture and mannerisms effortlessly displayed her importance as the daughter of wealthy and powerful family - there was not one hint of awkwardness or lack of confidence. Everything about her was impeccable. 

Y/N could well believe that any man in the court would gladly take Lady Warrington as his wife, while she, herself, felt that she would be lucky to find a minor nobleman who would take her on; a young woman of little fortune and next to no property, whose only real claim to a position at court came from her late father's friendship with the King. Y/N found herself quite disheartened and, she was surprised to find, hoping rather desperately that Mary was wrong about Jane Warrington's desire to make herself the Duchess of Suffolk...for the idea of such a kind man as Charles Brandon had shown himself to be, marrying Jane Warrington...well, it was not a pleasant prospect...in fact the very notion of it made her feel rather ill.

.....................................................................................................

Charles leapt down from his horse, his blood pumping, his body tingling with exhilaration. God, it had been far too long since he had had a good ride like that...and yes, it had been frustrating to have to hold back towards the end of their race, but he had learned long ago that if you wanted a pleasant and peaceful day, it was best to let Henry Tudor win.

"Well done, my lord!" Charles cried, his voice full of praise, with just the right amount of disappointment to make sure Henry felt the full effect of his victory. "Excellent riding, as always!"

Henry laughed and threw his arms out wide, hugging Charles briefly, but tightly, when the space between them had closed. 

"Thank you, Charles! You rode exceptionally well, yourself."

The King kept his arm tossed across Charles' shoulders and the two of them made their way from where they had dismounted their horses, to the little picnic area that had been arranged in advance of their arrival. 

There, scattered about a patch of grass amongst the trees, were a number of wooden benches and a small selection of inpressive wooden chairs. Thick blankets were draped over each seat and they were all covered with plump and luxuriously embroidered cushions. To one side of the seating area a fire had been lit and a large slab of, what appeared to be venison was being roasted to perfection above it, behind the venison was a bird of some kind and although Charles was unable to tell exactly what it was from where he stood, he could see that it looked just as finely cooked as the venison. The exquisite joints of meat were being turned slowly and without pause by a kitchen boy who Charles did not envy one bit, for it was coming close to midday and the early spring sun was growing very warm, and the poor lad must have been sat beside that fire since first thing that morning, when the King had decided that he would break his fast outdoors, and Charles felt sure that he must be as roasting as the meat he turned.

The King made his way over to his throne, for despite being a more simple seat than his usual throne inside the palace, there was no questioning that the impressively carved wooden chair, with red velvet cushions and canopy of state above it, was anything but a throne - Henry liked his postion to be observed and remembered at all times, even when out for a day of recreation with no-one but his closest friends. The only time Henry wished for anyone to forget that he was king, Charles thought, as he sat down in the closest chair to the throne, was when he inisted on dressing up with his men and storming the Queen's rooms dressed as Robin Hood or some other such heroic rogue. Charles always wondered if Henry truely believed that nobody - not even his wife who had known him since he was a child - knew that it was him in disguise. It had been some time since Henry had called for his gentlemen to join him in such an visit to the Queen's apartments - in fact, visits to her Majesty's rooms were becoming more and more infrequent in general - but Charles couldn't help but wish that Henry would call for such an occasion again soon. 

The thought of dressing in some rich, elaborate costume, complete with a hood and mask to disguise his appearance, then bursting into the Queen's apartments as she sat sewing with her ladies, taking them by surprise and declaring their desire to dance was suddenly more appealing than it had been in all the years that Henry had enjoyed the game...even those times when he knew that the event would lead to him bedding whichever lovely maid he desired at the time. He imagined now, as he sat in the warm morning sun, the look of surprise on that one particular face which had him so fully captivated, the visible beat of her heart as it thumped beneath her bosom making the soft flesh above it tremble, the sweet music of her laughter as she realised that it was all in jest, the shy smile as he would pull her - only a little roughly, while still entirely gently, allowing her to decline if she so wished - to her feet and into his arms so that he could lead her in a wild and vivacious Volta. 

He imagined himself holding her tightly, one hand grasping her hip, the other resting upon her ribs, just beneath her breast, he would grip her tightly and lift her high into the air. He pictured those beautiful, shining eyes wide with exhilaration as she felt his strenght, moving her effortlessly off the ground, her smile radiant as she soared around him like the very angel that she was. And then, he imagined putting her down, letting her soft body slide down the length of his own until they were standing toe-to-toe. He pictured her, looking up into his eyes - the only part of his face visible in his disguise - and he imagined that she would know at once that it was him, that she would know that it was he who had chosen her above all others, he who had taken her hand, who had held her tightly, who had lifted her as though she were the most precious treasure...and that it was he who had placed his hands so intimately upon her. He imagined seeing those pretty eyes widen, their dark centres growing so wide that there was almost no colour visible, he imagined seeing, once more, the beating of her heart making her breast tremble, and he imagined her eyes darting down to look longing at his mouth, his mind vividly displayed for him the flicker of her tongue across her plush lips as she gazed at his own, he...

"Charles? Charles!" A voice shook Charles from his thoughts, startling him back to reality.

"Hmm? Wh- ? Sorry?" Charles looked about him, in confusion. He hadn't noticed anyone talking to him but judging by the way everyone was currently looking at him, the conversation must have been directed towards him at some point without his noticing. 

"Good Lord, Charles!" Henry laughed. "What were you thinking of, to be so absorbed?"

Charles shook his head, trying to clear his mind and shake away the images painted behind his eyes. 

"Oh! N-nothing, nothing, my Lord." He answered, more than a little vexed with himself as he attempted to recover from the incident as smoothly as possible. 

How on Earth could he allow himself to be distracted from not one, but both, monarchs in the same bloody morning?! He was never flustered like this, so rarely thrown off course. Even when he made unwise decisions, even when he made damn well stupid ones, he had always been able to keep his wits about him, but apparently not today!

Thankfully, he felt fairly certain that Henry would be easier to placate than his wife had been.

"I am just a little tired, your Majesty. An ill night's sleep, coupled with the exertion of such a hard and tiring race...it has left something of a fog in my mind." Charles explained, purposely throwing in a mention of the race to brighten Henry's mood, and hopefully distract him. "It's nothing a good meal won't remedy, I'm sure."

Except, he wasn't sure, Charles thought to himself as Henry’s concern quickly disapated.

"Very well, Charles. If it is food you need, then let us eat!" Henry bellowed, gesturing to the serving men with a wide smile.

Charles knew full well that no meal would clear his mind of what currently held it captive...in fact he could think of nothing that would...not one thing....except the very woman who seemed to be permanently residing in his thoughts...that woman was both the cause of his current predicament and, quite simply, the only cure.

Charles was thankful of the distraction, however brief it may be, when Henry called for him to choose some food, and a plate of wonderfully cooked meat was held before him by the King's own server.

"Choose some good cuts, Charles. Eat and drink well, and if you do not feel improved afterwards we shall return to the Palace and I will personally find you some tonic to remedy your current state."

Charles could not help but smile, warmly and sincerely in response to that. His friend, for all his faults, for all his status, truly cared for him - a low born man, a once potential nobody - and would do all in his power to aid him. There were few who could boast such a friendship, let alone with the King himself.

He vowed then to fight his mind furiously, to force his thoughts to stay present with the King and his party until they returned to the castle...and then, if he saw Lady Y/N during dinner, well, who on Earth could blame him for being a little distracted then. 


End file.
